Candlelight and Memories
by JanetGR
Summary: This is the Season 3 Round Robin for Winterfest-Online 2016. Eight different contributors. If you've happened on this by accident, please join us at Winterfest On-Line, February 13-21, 2016. www dot batbwfol dot com
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Janet Rivenbark

Vincent stared at the Winterfest Candle that he'd brought up from Rebecca's candle chamber. It had been laying on the table in the middle of his chamber for over a week and he still hadn't made up his mind whether or not he was going to deliver it. He honestly didn't know if he was ready to take that step yet.

It should have been easy. Diana had been a Helper, an official Helper for several years now, and had definitely been a good friend. But the last new Helper Vincent had invited to Winterfest had been Catherine and everyone Below had known his reasons for inviting her. It wasn't just because she was a Helper it was because she was _his_ Catherine. He hadn't invited her to the first Winterfest after he'd met her, even though she was pretty much established as a Helper by that time. She'd rescued him from the Silks, and the cage that Dr. Hughes had put him in. She'd even helped Father when he'd been charged with the murder of his old friend when Margaret had tried to contact him. She'd brought Father and Margaret together even if it had been for only a heart-wrenchingly short period of time. He had known Catherine for almost two years before he invited her to Winterfest.

But he'd known Diana for five years and she'd helped him and the community many times during those years. Father was even referring to her as their Helper in the NYPD. Father expected him to invite her… he'd expected it three years ago if he was being honest with himself. But he was afraid that the community would start to expect more of them if he invited Diana to the annual gathering. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He was beginning to think of Diana in terms of being more than a friend, but he didn't really feel comfortable with the entire community Below being in on that just yet.

He suddenly stood, grabbed his cloak and swung it around his shoulders. He picked up the candle and headed out. Enough of this impersonation of a pendulum. He _was_ going to invite her!

 **' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '**

Half an hour later he was on her roof, peering down into the living room of her loft. It was late, but she was still up so he tapped on the glass.

She looked up from the papers and photos she had spread over nearly every flat surface and a smile lit her eyes. She grabbed her old, baggy sweater and went up to the roof to join him.

"Am I disturbing you?" he asked, gesturing to the scene below them.

"No, I've taken some time off work, and I'm trying to do something constructive with it. I'm weeding out my files and deciding what needs to go back to the precinct and what I can throw out. I hope I don't decide that I need to keep _much_ of it here."

"You're not working on a case?" he asked, leaning back against the brick wall that was breaking the cold winter wind.

"Nope. I finished one a few days ago. It was a tough one, but we cracked it. The Captain was very pleased and I know that was the only reason I was able to get the time off when I asked for it."

"So you spend your time off… working?" Vincent was amused. She often told him to look up the word _workaholic_ in the dictionary; she was sure that he'd see a picture of her next to it.

"I'm trying to spend it simplifying my life," she said with a laugh, "and I'm starting with the files. I also plan to clean out all the closets, the kitchen cabinets and go through the stuff I've got in my storage room in the basement here."

"You're going to be busy," he commented, fingering the candle in the inner pocket of his cloak.

"That should be enough to keep me busy for the first week. I've got two off. I'll probably scrub everything during the second week."

She joined Vincent against the brick wall. They didn't touch, but she was close enough to feel the heat of his body. It reminded her that it was the middle of the winter and it was cold. She shivered.

"You're cold." Vincent stood up straight and took a step away. "I should go."

Diana caught his arm. "No, not yet. Come inside."

It reminded him of what Catherine had said the first time he visited her balcony, but he'd never gone inside her apartment, at least not until there was an emergency, when he was sick and then again when he'd returned her to her home. He hesitated. He didn't want to repeat that mistake, the mistake of not pushing his own envelope, of stepping outside his comfort zone.

"All right," he said as he turned and followed her inside.

 **' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '**

Diana had a hard time containing her surprise when he accepted her invitation. He hadn't been inside her place since that time she'd found him and brought him home after the explosion. She tossed her sweater on a chair, indicating that he should do the same with his cloak, and headed for the kitchen.

"Would you like something?" she asked. "I've got coffee, tea, beer, wine, whiskey. Name your poison."

"Tea?" he suggested. He walked to the end of the counter and picked up the glass she'd been sipping from all evening. He sniffed it and looked over at her.

"Jameson," she told him. "Irish whiskey. It's the only one that's smooth enough to drink straight… at least in my opinion."

He surprised her by tipping the glass and taking a sip.

"It is good," he agreed as he set the glass down.

"I didn't know you drank," she said as she put the kettle on the stove and turned on the burner.

"I don't, really. Father has a taste for a cognac now and then and I sometimes join him. Peter keeps him supplied with Hennessy. He keeps it in his desk and says it's purely for medicinal purposes, but Peter brings a new bottle every month or so."

Diana laughed. "A bottle doesn't last me that long, especially if I've just finished a particularly tough case. I don't imbibe while I'm working on a case, it tends to fog the thought processes." She tapped her temple. "But I find that it helps me to relax when it's all over, but as you can see, I'm a lightweight. One double will last me all evening."

"And that's why you drink it neat," he suggested. "The ice would only water it down."

"Now you sound like my dad."

Vincent strolled around looking at everything she had spread out around the room while she found her teapot and two clean mugs.

"All this is from solved cases?" he asked with a wave of his hand.

"Not all of them have been solved," she told him. "Most of them, but not all. To be honest, I'll probably keep the stuff from the unsolved cases and toss the rest. Very little of it needs to go back to the precinct to go into files there. That's what that box is for." She pointed at a box that contained a few papers and photos. "The rest can be burned." She indicated a box that was full to overflowing. "I'll haul that down to the incinerator tomorrow."

At his questioning look, she explained. "I don't keep any original files here. All I have are copies that I use as work files. Sometimes I take my own photos of crime scenes and gather my own evidence in the form of newspaper clippings and the like, but all that goes back into the official files when I'm done."

"Why do you work so much from home?" he asked as he took the mug she handed him and sat on the sofa.

She joined him and put her feet up on the coffee table.

"It's quiet here. I don't have to commute. There's no dress code, I can schlep around in my pajamas or sweats all day if it suits me. I can unplug the phone and refuse to answer the buzzer if I want to. I can actually get work done here, and I'm lucky I have a Captain who is willing to let me do that. I guess he will as long as I continue to produce results."

"I suppose we are lucky Below, then. Most of us live only a few steps from our place of work. We don't have to worry about the commute."

Diana sipped her tea and looked over at him.

"So what brings you here tonight? It's like ten degrees out there and the wind chill must be well below zero."

He set down his mug and went over to where he left his cloak. He extracted something from the pocket came back to sit next to her.

"This." He held out a familiar orange, yellow and white candle to her.

She took it and studied it. She'd seen one like it in a box of keepsakes at Catherine's.

"A candle?" she asked.

"It's a special candle."

"OK, I'll buy that." She didn't want to say anything about where she'd seen one like it, but she'd figured then it must have meant something.

"Every year we have a celebration. We call it Winterfest. It's our way of thanking our Helpers for all that they've done for us throughout the year, and a way for them to meet the people they've been helping and each other."

The thought crossed Diana's mind that she'd been a Helper for a while now, but this was the first she'd heard of this Winterfest thing. It made her wonder.

"And the candle has a meaning?"

"It's your invitation to join us for that celebration."

"When is it?"

"Friday."

"This Friday? That's kinda short notice," she observed. "It's already Tuesday."

"I'm sorry about that. The candles are usually delivered by our children about two weeks before Winterfest, but I wanted to deliver this one myself. I've had it, but things kept coming up that kept me from coming Above." That was only partly true, but he hoped she would believe it. "Will you come?"

She wanted to jump up and down and squeal like a schoolgirl; this was the tunnel equivalent of Vincent asking her on a date, but she managed to keep her cool.

"It sounds like fun. What should I wear?"

"Whatever you are comfortable in is acceptable," he told her. "Everyone does tend to dress in their best, though."

She nodded. "Will I know anyone there? I mean, anyone besides the people from Below that I've met?"

"You might know some Helpers; it's been known to happen. Peter Alcott will be there. My brother, Devin and the man he takes care of, Charles, are coming this year. They are supposed to arrive tomorrow or Thursday. They have to be careful when they travel. Charles just had surgery a couple months ago."

Diana had heard some stories about Devin and knew about Charles' health issues.

"What do you do at this celebration?"

"There's food, dancing, games for the children, entertainment. It's a little different every year."

"What time and where?" she asked.

"I'll meet you at six on Friday at the Park Threshold. Bring your candle. We will join the last group to be guided down to the Great Hall."

Diana had heard about the Great Hall, and she was looking forward to seeing it… and to spending some real, quality time with Vincent. She wondered if she had anything suitable in her closet for a party.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Elizabeth Carter

Time rolled through the next few days in what seemed like paradoxical bullet time, fast and slow together making Diana feel not unlike a kid waiting in line at a favoured ride at a fairground. You couldn't wait until you got on the ride; sitting in the car of the roller coaster click-clacking your way up the hill of scaffolding and then all of a sudden there you were and there was no getting off of it.

Not that she wanted to. Hell, her heart was hammering just as fast it was on one of those rickety rides. This was it! It only took five years to be fully accepted by not only the Community but by Vincent.

Well that wasn't entirely true. Many people Below had accepted her. Not as Vincent's Diana, but simply Diana. She was the one who not only saved and nursed Vincent back to health after he had been so egregiously wounded, but she had gone into the lair of the dragon and rescued him from Gabriel's clutches. She had also reunited father and son. She had saved Little Jacob and she had put an end to the monster with Catherine Chandler's own gun. A gun Catherine had once given Father.

Father liked Diana quite a bit. He respected her. On more than one occasion the young detective had shooed Vincent away from one crime scene or another because his presence was more of a detriment than an aid. She was a New York police officer; she didn't need a bodyguard. She had even threatened to slap cuffs on Vincent, hand Father the keys, and place him under house arrest if he dared trample her crime scene or contaminate it, all on the grounds of impeding justice. Besides, Diana said Vincent had to start thinking like a daddy now, not some vigilante super-hero complete with billowing cloak.

For that act alone Father wanted to adopt her as part of the family. As for Vincent, he finally got the message that he didn't owe Diana anything for what she had done for him and his son. Even Father owed his life to her when she had discovered a long lost son of the Tunnels, a man named Gregory Coyle had been the Ash-killer. His last and final victim would have been Father, had the good detective not interceded and deduced that Father was buried where the accident had happened.

Diana had rapidly become quite the popular folk-hero of the Tunnel community. Though for Vincent's sake the Tunnel Dwellers had kept a bit silent on the fact. Jamie had come to swiftly idolize the detective for her tenacity and strength. Not that she hadn't respected Catherine, but Diana she could truly relate too. Catherine always seemed so far above her, so glamorous, worldly. Diana was more down to earth, grittier. And she gave Jamie several pointers on honing her sharp-shooting skills with the crossbow. The two collaborated on how to innovate new security measures in the Tunnels since Snow's invasion five years ago.

Samantha, who was not so little any more, wanted to go to the world Above and become an NYPD profiler / analyst just like Diana. She wanted to do something proactive not only for the Community, but for herself as well. Then the Tunnels would have another Helper in the NYPD. Diana had Samantha go through observational skills, looking at everything, sharpening her memory until she could go into Father's or Vincent's chamber, then come out and list everything by rote.

Before Diana, there was, of course, Jerry, who was Laura's husband. The young undercover cop who worked the Gang Unit had become a Helper shortly after Vincent had rescued the man from being stoned to death by a troop of deaf gang members. Jerry and Catherine had worked together on that case to put the members behind bars. Coincidentally, Jerry knew Diana quite well in a professional capacity. The two had crossed paths on several occasions when their cases overlapped one another over the years.

Diana met Laura long before she saw her at Jacob's naming ceremony. She was shocked to not only meet the younger woman there, but to discover the truth of Laura's origins—that the young deaf woman was indeed a former Tunnel Dweller. They had 'spoken' for some time after the Ceremony as one tends to do with unexpected reunions. Not long after, Vincent had given Diana a tour of his world, and the detective had felt her heart fall in love.

Not necessarily with the man walking beside her at the time, but at his paradoxical antiquated medieval yet modern-steam-punk world. As a kid growing up back in Boston, Diana loved going the SCA Renaissance Faires with her sister and playing at being shield-maidens. Now she was all grown up and yet at times she still felt as if she were play acting being a daughter of Rohann every time she entered the Tunnel World.

The memory inspired her choice of wardrobe for the special event. Most of her clothing was completely practical. Being an NYPD special crimes profiler didn't offer one the opportunities to wear more high street brand names. Not that Saks Fifth Avenue or Macy's had anything in Diana's tastes. She was more a Levi's girl. She favored overly large sweaters or sweatshirts rather than high-end silk blouses. And Nike running shoes were much better for pounding the pavement than hand-made heels or even flats. Tonight, however, was altogether different.

Diana chose a dark hunter green crushed velvet flowing skirt and bodice—better to fend off the near constant chill in the Tunnels. The golden trim of the dress offset the green perfectly. Though not quite Renaissance Faire, the garment was close enough to make a passable go at it. The color also set off her pale complexion and amber locks beautifully. As always, she wore her hair down, and it fell about her shoulders like a cascade of rubies.

Now she was ready. There was still some debate if she should bring anything or not. Vincent hadn't said and she hadn't asked, she had been too excited that she had been asked to join in the festivities. Her detective's mind recalled the conversation perfectly. Winterfest was a celebration, a thanksgiving if you will, for the Helpers.

Still her mother's voice echoed in her head that it was bad manners to show up empty handed. She grabbed the bottle of fine twenty-year-old oak-smoked Scotch she was saving for her dad's birthday, to give to Father. She jotted down a note on a post-it and stuck it to her computer to make sure she remembered to reorder a bottle for her father's 75th. For Jacob, she brought the collected works of Winnie-the-Pooh. A gift he could share with the other Tunnel children.

At last satisfied, Diana made her way to Central Park, past the carousel and Belvedere Castle towards the drainage entrance of another world. The young redhead was more than pleased to see to familiar faces waiting for their escort. Diana gave Jerry and Laura and their little four-year-old girl, Lielu hugs as she met them. She shook hands with Peter Alcott. Then there was another shocker, the street-busker named Clarence who played a mean sax. Not only was he one of Diana's informants, but apparently he too was a Helper. How small the world had become.

It made Diana smile. How many years had she been working the streets solving crimes, unwittingly having the eyes of the Tunnel World follow her? Now, of course, they would be watching out for her as they did for the others of the fraternity of Helpers as well as the Tunnel Dwellers. Being asked to Winterfest made Diana Bennett a card-carrying member of that elite and very tiny group; one she was proud to be a part of.

She withdrew the candle from the depths her coat pocket and looked at the taper with renewed pride. No wonder Catherine had kept hers, it had meaning beyond the mere candle. It said: ' _You_ _ **belong**_ _to us, now. You are one of us.'_ And like Catherine before her, Diana knew she would keep the stub of her candle in a special box along with all her other keepsakes, including the very first refrigerator picture her niece had drawn when she was only two. To this day, it was one of Diana's most valued treasures.

 **' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '**

Vincent felt the pangs of guilt ripple through him.

"It's about time, you invited that girl." Mary chastised him.

He knew the Council was going to invite Diana this year if he did not. Samantha had told him as much. It was a shameful act of neglect of a woman who gave so much to him personally and to his son. He couldn't overlook the fact that he was growing fonder and fonder of her.

They had a very comfortable relationship. She spoke to him as she might a buddy from the force or one of her brothers. Perhaps that comfort came from the days he spent unconscious in her loft after the explosion on the docks during the night of the comet; the night Elliot Burch supposedly died. She kept him apart from her work, not because she wanted to protect him from the darkness of her world, but because he was simply a civilian and thus had no place in a police investigation. That was it. That simple. And Vincent loved her for it.

He paced back and forth waiting for Samantha to return with the last group from the Park entrance, he was only a little way further back. Though at 5:30 the park was darkened by the skies of winter there were still too many people in Central Park for Vincent to safely go.

The acoustics of the tunnels alerted Vincent to the presence of the group approaching, only then did he step out of the shadows. He was immediately assaulted by hugs from Laura, little Lielu and Jerry, a hesitant one from Diana and a back-slap hug from Peter. Of course he was overshadowed by a very small young man; at least when it came to the women.

Jacob preened in extra attention and immediately demanded to be carried by Diana who eagerly obliged, settling the boy on her hip.

"Jacob..." Vincent started to scold his son for his impertinence, but stopped as he watched Diana scoop up the eager boy.

"It's all right." Diana shook her head. "He's not that heavy...yet." She tapped the boy's nose with her index finger. "Are you?"

"No. I'm still small. But I'll be as big as Daddy soon."

 _Of that, I have no doubt._ Laura signed… translated by Lielu who was settled on her mother's own hip.

The girl looked down at Vincent's feet then back up again. She tilted her head as if she was attempting to puzzle something out. She had seen Vincent on numerous occasions during the years but this is the first time she seemed to be questioning what she saw.

"Vincent?"

"Yes, little one?"

She was gazing at his thigh length doe-skin boots. Then back up to his face. "How come your eyes are the wrong color and where is your cavalier's hat?"

Lielu!" her father scolded.

Diana chuckled as did Jacob.

"Cavaliers hat?" Vincent was now the one with the puzzled look

"Well... you sorta do look the part," the detective said with a smirk.

"Part?"

She looked at him, expecting him put the pieces together and it only took a moment for him to do so. But it was Jacob who spoke.

"My daddy isn't _Puss in Boots_."

"Is so."

"Is not."

"Is so..."

"Enough," Laura said aloud. Though deaf she could at times speak aloud, her voice carrying the strange cadence all those with hearing impairment have.

"Your mother's right, Lielu. It's Winterfest, we don't argue on Winterfest."

Diana softly chuckled "I don't know about your family, but holidays without an argument breaking out just isn't a holiday."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

T'Mara

Children and adults alike broke into laughter at Diana's comment. That was just too silly! Arguments at Winterfest, when everybody was having a good time and enjoying themselves? Arguments were rare among Tunnel Dwellers and Helpers to begin with, any problems between two or more individuals were usually solved rather quickly, for the survival of the whole community might depend on their working together, on their mutual trust and acceptance.

As they walked on, they were soon joined by other groups of people: citizens from Below coming from their chambers, headed towards the Great Hall as well as groups of Helpers that had met at different thresholds. One of these groups was headed by Jamie, another one by Rebecca.

Diana soon found herself in the middle of a huge crowd, all of them following Vincent, who had been joined by Father and Mary and was leading the way. Everybody seemed to be very excited, looking forward to whatever this Winterfest was going to be. Diana's curiosity was growing. Vincent had not given her too many details on the event, he had just said that is was some kind of a Thanksgiving party, so that the community Below could thank their Helpers, and that the Helpers could meet the people they were supporting and meet each other, too.

But was that all of it? If this was just a big party for everybody, with the opportunity to do some networking with other Helpers, why had she not been invited to this thing previously? She had known Vincent for approximately five years, and this was the first time he had asked her to join this celebration. Surely it would not have been such a bad thing to give her the chance to meet other Helpers? Why did she have to wait five years, just to find out that Clarence was a Helper, too? How many others were there, that she had met before without knowing that they, too, were part of this large group?

They had reached stairs by then, stairs carved into stone, leading further and further down. Diana had to put Jacob down, it was safer that way for both of them. Her skirt was rather long and she needed to pay close attention so as not to trip over the hem while going down the stairs. Laura also put her daughter down.

"I am sorry, little ones, but you will have to walk a little bit on your own feet," Diana told the children. She took Jacob by the hand, making sure the boy would not come to harm on the rather steep stairs, especially since it was extremely windy down there. She was not quite sure how this could be; how the wind could be blowing so deep down in the ground as they must be by then and made a mental note to ask Father about it. Father would know. He was arguably the most knowledgeable man she had ever met – with the possible exception of Vincent.

The group came to a sudden halt, and as Diana looked ahead, she could see Vincent and Father standing in front of a huge wooden door.

"The Great Hall," she thought to herself, and suddenly she felt all giddy and nervous with anticipation. This was it! This was the moment when she would finally see the famous Great Hall, when she would finally be able to enter it, together with all those other Tunnel Dwellers and Helpers, when she would finally, officially, be acknowledged as one of them.

She stood on tiptoes to be able to watch what was going on at the front and saw Vincent remove the large, heavy wooden beam that served as a bolt, then he pushed the heavy double door open with all his strength. It was dark inside.

Vincent and Father entered the Great Hall, and the rest of them followed. They all sat down around large, wooden tables that were all standing together, thus forming one incredibly large table. Diana felt a bit like an outsider. Everybody else around her seemed to know what to do, everybody else had been here, had done this before. Jacob suddenly was gone from her side, and as she looked for him, she spotted him making his way towards Mary and Father. Apparently even the boy knew what to do, where to go.

"Calm down, Bennett," she told herself. "No reason to fret. Just watch the others, observe what they are doing, and follow their lead. Piece of cake."

She took a deep breath. People were looking for seats. She would, therefore, do the same. Purposefully she approached the nearest table when another doubt assaulted her. What if everybody already had their assigned table, a place where they were sitting every year, only she had no such place?

Well, she would find out soon enough.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" she asked an elderly man, who was strangely dressed in some type of tux, with a black top hat.

"No, Miss," he replied, then frowned. "Have I seen you here before?" he inquired. "I thought I knew everybody by now, but apparently there are always new people..."

"Diana Bennett," Diana introduced herself. "This is my first time at Winterfest I am afraid, so this is all new to me and to be honest, a bit overwhelming."

"Sebastian," the friendly man replied, "and you could not have found a better person to introduce you to this great celebration!"

They both sat down and were soon joined by other Helpers. Sebastian made the introductions. He truly seemed to know everybody. One or two people gave Diana strange looks when they heard her name and one lady made a big show of looking from Diana over to the head of the large line of tables, where Father and Vincent were seated.

Diana bit her lip. Had she done something wrong? Did that woman expect her to sit with Vincent and Father? Surely, as the first-timer at this event, she could not sit over there? That would be imposing! After all, these people had been coming to Winterfest for years, just like this Sebastian-guy next to her, some of them probably had known Father and Vincent for much, much longer than she did. Why would she of all people merit such a place of honor?

Diana once again glanced over at where Vincent was sitting. Of course, it would have been wonderful to sit next to him, but that would probably be a bit too much to ask. She should be glad that she finally had been invited to this event!

The area where Vincent was sitting also seemed quite crowded to her. It was not as if there had been an empty seat waiting for her, or was there? She saw Father, Vincent, Jacob, Mary, Devin, who she had met two years ago when he had been home for a visit the last time. The gentleman at his left must be Charles, his protégé. Then there was Peter Alcott, Father's oldest friend, and some members of the Council like William and Pascal. No, there was no room for her over there, she most certainly did not belong with the "nobility" of the world Below.

The room quieted, and Diana saw that one of the people that had carried a torch during their descent to the Great Hall approached Father and lit his candle. Father began to speak slowly.

"The world above us is cold and gray, summer a distant memory. Our world too, has known its winters, so each year we begin this feast in darkness, as our world began in darkness."

While he was talking, the others at his table held their candles to Father's burning one to light theirs. The torch bearers had approached the other tables as well, and soon, everybody's candles were lit, as were the candles in the huge chandeliers that hung low above the center of each table.

Vincent and Mary alternated with Father, telling the story of how this community had begun, and how together they had been able to fight off darkness and bring light to their world.

"To remember... even the greatest darkness is nothing, so long as we share the light," Father ended his speech, and the huge chandeliers were being hoisted up. Suddenly the whole Hall was full of light, music began to play, and food was being served.

Diana smiled. She liked this Winterfest so far. And even though she might have preferred sitting with Vincent, she most certainly could not complain about her company. Sebastian was a very entertaining gentleman, showing off some magic tricks that kept the whole group around him laughing.

 **' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '**

The mood at the head of the large table was not quite as good as where Diana was sitting, though. Vincent was very quiet, and Father gave him one scolding look after the other. Mary, too, was oozing disapproval.

"What is this, little brother?" Devin finally asked, giving Vincent a brotherly shove to lighten the mood. "I thought you were inviting the Bennett woman this year! Charles and I wouldn't have come if not for this big occasion! We were sure you would finally cave in and admit it all."

Vincent fidgeted. His brother's words made him even more uncomfortable.

"What do you mean?" he asked cautiously. "I did invite Diana and she has indeed accepted my invitation."

"What? Where?" Devin gasped, then he noticed Vincent glancing at a table further down the row, and when he followed his brother's eyes, he spotted Diana sitting there, obviously having a good time with Sebastian and some others.

"Are you mad?" he hissed at Vincent. "What's she doing over there, all alone? I thought you said she hasn't met too many of our Helpers yet, even though pretty much all of them have heard _about_ her." He grinned. "I guess there isn't one single person here in this huge, old hall, that doesn't know who saved your life, Brother, when you were caught in that explosion, investigating Chandler's death, and who helped you find little Jacob and bring him back home!"

"She doesn't seem to have problems making new friends," Vincent retorted, trying to sound calm though he was feeling anything but calm.

Diana seemed to be having a great time, as far as he could tell from the distance. She didn't seem to miss… him. He bit his lips. Why did that thought bother him? Why would he want her to miss him? Was it because... He barely dared admit it to himself… because he, Vincent, missed her?

Devin watched his brother closely. They hadn't seen each other often over the past couple of years, but once they had been close, very close, and he thought he still knew Vincent better than most others, maybe even better than Father knew him.

"You're not ready yet," he whispered, as understanding dawned on him. "You haven't summoned the courage yet, to take that last step."

Vincent nodded. "It is... hard," he admitted. "In a way I… she is more than a friend, but..."

Devin shook his head. "You can't possibly fear that she doesn't feel the same way about you," he stated, sounding exasperated. "It was obvious to me that she was waiting for you to say the word even two years ago when I met her for the first time."

Vincent fidgeted. "No, I don't think it's that," he admitted. "I know we are... very good friends."

"Then what is it?" Devin asked again. "Jacob likes her, too," he reminded Vincent, drawing his brother's attention to the fact that the boy had joined a group of children surrounding Sebastian watching the old man perform his tricks.

"And so does Father," Vincent admitted. "And Mary adores her..."

Devin patted his brother on the shoulder. "See?" he asked. "The whole family approves, and that does include me. So what's holding you back? What are you waiting for?"

Vincent looked down. "Catherine," he whispered.

Devin rolled his eyes. This was going to be difficult. "Vincent, I know that she meant the world to you," he began uneasily. "But it's been five years! Five years is a very long time, Vincent, do you realize that? Five years of loneliness..."

"I was not lonely," Vincent interrupted him stubbornly. "I had Jacob, the son Catherine left me..."

"A motherless son, for Heaven's sake!" Devin blurted out. "I know you are trying your best with the boy, and the whole community is helping you, but truth be told, a child needs a mother as much as a father! And yes, I'm aware that neither of us had a mother growing up, but we had Mary, who was like a mother to us and all the other children in the tunnels."

"Mary is still here," Vincent reminded Devin. "And she is doing for Jacob the same as she did for us all those years ago."

"Yeah, except by now, she is more like a grandmother to the tunnel children," Devin said. "Jacob needs a mother." And he once again glanced over to where Diana was sitting next to Sebastian. Somehow, little Jacob had found his way into her lap.

"And you," Devin added, after a short pause for emphasis. "You, my brother, need a new love. And I know somebody, who would be able to fill both those positions, the one of Jacob's mother and the one of your love, girlfriend, wife, call her whatever you want."

He put a comforting hand on Vincent's shoulder. "I don't think Catherine would mind," he said softly. "I am sure she would want you and Jacob to be happy and to be loved."

Devin looked over to where a few couples had started dancing. "Why don't you go and ask her for a dance?" he suggested. "After all, it was you who invited her here, and so far you have neglected her. Show her, that you're glad she came, tell her that this wouldn't be the same if she wasn't here!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Rusty Hough Bader

Yes, just ask her to dance. It would only be that simple wouldn't it? Vincent had scaled tall buildings, dispatched criminals with a godly wrath; yet crossing the Great Hall floor and extending his ungloved hand was paralyzing. Everyone who meant anything to Vincent was there, and suddenly his mind escaped to a midsummer night conversation on Diana's roof.

 **' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '**

"I have grieved, and it woke other grieving." Vincent's voice was a hoarse whisper escaping his spread cape's protection.

"It's a process, Vincent. People aren't Legos, you can't click one into place and build on."

Diana had tried to comfort him for a while. Vincent had been disheartened by the death of a recent refugee from Above. A young woman, escaping a horrendously violent marriage, had arrived on a February evening with Peter Alcott. Life Below being one of beginnings and ends would welcome Maia, Mary would become her surrogate Mother and Vincent, of course, being her _big_ brother.

Yet Maia had teetered on the edge of a battered woman's psyche and periodically drew back to the row house in the old neighborhood. One fateful evening Maia went to a cousin's apartment to keep a solemn promise to deliver a baby. Then when Maia stepped into the hallway to return to that safe subterranean sanctuary she fell prey to her husband's rage.

The other grieving was Catherine. That Kraken of grief that emerged each April, each winter, and every one of Jacob's birthdays. If Diana's spirit could vanquish Vincent's grief she felt the victory would only be pyrrhic. What would Vincent need with a New York City cop?

She had spent years viewing this phenomenal man as if through a heavily faceted citrine. His grace, his words, his movement was golden to Diana. Vincent's voice washed over her like that Jameson in her glass, _neat_ , heady and intoxicating. Now this summer's night, would she approach him, lay a reassuring arm over those broad leather clad shoulders and make an attempt to comfort him?

Vincent slowly turned his head, as if he could feel her approach. She stood backlit by the night's sky. Diana glowed, literally.

"I… I didn't intend to burden you, Diana." His breath caught at the thought that in that place between sleep and waking, her Botticellian warmth lapped over his senses. Could he emerge from this moment of grief and be honest with his very good friend? "It's only that I find such moments of clarity when I stand here on your roof."

In those silent ticks Diana had hoped his boots would take one step closer to her. Vincent hung in that space. The city's cacophony crashed into their shared silence to snap them back to their customary positions of friends. And although Diana's brow knitted earnestly and Vincent drew himself to his confident height, hands did not clasp, hugs were not shared and each felt _so close yet so far_.

 **' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '**

So, those countless nights since Vincent's confession of clarity, Diana prayed. She prayed for the precise words in a voice he could hear. This candlelit night, as Helpers and Tunnel folk milled around groaning tables of hearty food and an uncommon keg, Diana's hands burrowed into her pockets, perspiring in the room's cool air. Diana's backbone trilled with every gaze that Vincent directed her way. Now, as it appeared as Devin had given his younger brother a bit of a _dressing down,_ Diana anticipated Vincent's arrival before her.

As if in some sacred solitude carved out of the crowd, Vincent's grace delivered him not just before her, but within that personal circle that she had kept clear for so long. Fairly vibrating in his close proximity, Diana's deep breath ate up the scents of leather and ancient fabric, primitive soaps and his sensual cachet.

Vincent became aware of a fragrant mélange of Above and Below, Diana's lavender toilet water with an emergent scent of desire.

One delightfully unique hand beckoned and a pale resolute hand answered. Without his world's interference, they were granted this oasis. Their feet found the violin's rhythm and their bodies began a lyrical symbiosis. At first, words failed them, then Diana's loosed titian tresses blended with Vincent's golden locks and their breathing caught to calm. Electricity flowed where their hands clasped, two hearts jumped to voice salient words.

Vincent voiced careful words, "Before this moment, Diana, I… I have felt like scorched earth." Their eyes met and her eyes fluttered in understanding. "There was an interminable darkness within me." Vincent's chest rose and fell meeting and retreating from Diana's strength.

"But you heard Father tonight; darkness is nothing, so long as we share the light. Vincent, I want to share that light." Had she said enough?

"I have this bravado, Diana, a wall I've constructed to keep you safe, to keep my heart safe." The music changed, sweeping them into a waltzing cadence.

"But, Vincent, I don't seek safety. I'm a big girl." She smiled less than demurely after looking around the room. They were still in that oasis alone together. How was she supposed to be feeling? She did feel merrily entranced, and if she admitted, honestly she was turned on. She had never felt this burn. Diana whispered into Vincent's hidden ear, "Perhaps we have an untold story to unfold?"

Was it the music that escalated, or had Vincent's heart collided with his lips? "Perhaps we have been within each other all along?" His fingertips folded into his hands as he swept errant strands of hair from Diana's face. Imploring her lips gracefully lifted then found a sudden patch of his neck begging to be blessed with a caress.

"Perhaps, Diana, you have brought some of your rooftop's clarity Below tonight." With his words and movement that golden flesh was again obscured. Brazenly, Diana's hand left the solid expanse of his leather cummerbund and her nails combed back that length of hair. Seeing the linen collar against the column of his neck Diana bit her bottom lip and succumbed. Using their dance steps as her 'excuse' she pressed more than an innocent kiss into his neck.

Electrified in a calm frisson Vincent's embrace warmed as he turned them to a discreet corner of the dance floor. He saw theirs join other shadows and he saw them as some silent army on his side. The tallest shadow as the amount of his fears, the second told the number of his tears. And as he saw theirs tower above the others he wondered, how this love would endure in years.

Devin nearly collided with them, punch cups in both his hands. With none too discreet a whisper he grinned. "See, that wasn't so hard was it? It was just a dance." He then dashed off before Vincent could respond. The newly invigorated Vincent shook his head at Devin as Diana rolled her eyes at the scamp of a brother.

"Your kiss…" Vincent sighed at the thought of her.

"Was not just a kiss." Diana whispered huskily.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Beth

Vincent felt his heart catch in his ribs, an intense sensation that bordered on painful. His breath whooshed out a moment later as Diana slipped her hand into his. The gesture was a bold one, but he saw only frank openness on her face. Her knowledge of herself was inspiring; her confident trust in their friendship, in him, was humbling.

"Diana…" He squeezed her hand, then startled slightly when she ran her thumbs across the furred back of his knuckles.

"Vincent," she smiled the word. "Thank you for the… the dance."

Echoing her smile, he raised her clasped hand to his lips and chastely kissed the back of it. A moment of impishness overtook him—later, he might blame the giddy intimacy of their dance, or the general festive atmosphere of Winterfest, or perhaps even that Greyhound concoction Devin had insisted was the perfect drink for the party. Instead of releasing Diana's hand, he gently turned it over, and brushed her palm with a kiss.

Diana shuddered with the wave of sensation. Although they were in a dark corner, she suddenly felt too exposed and vulnerable. She ached to continue on this trajectory with Vincent, delighted that their timing was matched at last. She'd only recently come to realize that he meant more to her than a friend and ally. More, even, than the best friend she'd thought of him as, since their meeting half a decade ago.

Now she felt she was on a precipice with him, and she wasn't sure which way she should tumble. If the invitation was there, did it come with an expiration date? Did it toll the end of their friendship, whether or not they indulged the physical longing between them? Was there even a right action to take in this cacophony of possibilities?

Vincent was watching her face closely, Diana realized. She wasn't sure he understood her hesitation—she wasn't sure _she_ did, either, when she blinked into those liquid blue eyes of his too long. But he waited for her to speak, or make some kind of signal.

Cupping her hand and stepping into him, she brushed the side of his face lightly with her fingertips. There was definitely a heady sensation of power, to be the one whose touch caused him to half-close his eyes like that, and lean into her hand.

With a sudden jolt, Diana felt her instincts raise on high alert. She blinked and dropped her hand, pivoting to face the room and put her back to the wall, before she even realized what had caught her attention. Only once she was in motion did it occur to her—the hall had gone eerily silent. Behind her, she felt Vincent straighten and focus into the room as well. She thought she heard him sniff the air twice, softly. Her eyes sought out Father and Mary, who seemed to be the focus for all other eyes in the room. Everyone she could see was turned toward the pair, intent and wary. And no, she realized as she shifted for a better view, not just Father and Mary but the stiff young woman standing in front of them.

Vincent must have sensed the scene better than she did. He strode purposefully toward the trio, hackles stiff with alarm. Diana followed him, not caring that there was likely some rule of precedence in the Tunnels that she was breaking. Her natural curiosity was getting the better of her, as it always did, and she couldn't help being drawn into it.

"Jamie?" Vincent's voice was pitched low, and taut with concern.

The blonde-haired young woman turned her head toward Vincent. Her lips were pinched with worry, and her neck was stiff. "It's Brooke. She's… gone."

Father let out a small sigh and shook his head, assuming the worst. Mary was more patient.

"Gone, child? Gone where?"

"I don't know," Jamie's voice cracked slightly at the end. "Above? We were supposed to meet up during Winterfest tonight. But she never showed! And I've looked in her chamber and the tunnels and everywhere. Even Mouse hasn't seen her!"

There was an urgency in Jamie's voice that bordered on frantic. Mary moved to put an arm around her in comfort, but Jamie stiffened. Vincent understood her pride—Jamie had always taken on more responsibility than was her due and held herself to a harsher standard than anyone else. She and Brooke had grown closer as they grew from teenagers into young women, but Jamie was the more reliable of the two.

"Perhaps she's run an errand," Father suggested.

"On Winterfest?" Mary sounded almost affronted.

"Jamie," Vincent made sure his voice was calm, but not condescending, "is it just her breaking of a promise? Or could there be something else that's worrying you?"

"She… she met a man. Above. I don't know his name. She wouldn't say. But she's… she's not herself when she sees him. After she comes back. I think… I think there's something happening. But she won't talk about it. And now…" Her voice pinched again and Jamie clenched her fists tightly.

Jacob and Mary exchanged a worried look. It was always the most difficult, trying to protect the children when they were old enough to fraternize with others Above. Sometimes it was a harmless exploration, sometimes it was a wonderful opportunity, and sometimes it was a path toward tragedy. They knew how tricky it was to try to protect from afar, without driving the children away.

"Perhaps…" Father began tentatively. "Vincent, you could assist?"

Vincent bowed his head toward Jamie. "I can try to trace her scent in the tunnels, perhaps. It's not much, but… perhaps she's merely delayed and on her way."

Jamie's shoulders sagged just a bit, and her fists relaxed. "Thank you, Vincent. Should I…?"

Vincent gave a small shake of his head. "You'd best wait in the Great Hall; in case she appears."

Jamie looked dubious, but Devin stepped in, with his showman's talent for timing. Charles stood quietly behind and to the left of him. "Say, Jamie, you still have that crossbow of yours? I saw this trick in the Moscow circus with a crossbow once…"

Gently, and only with his rambling prattle and the warm presence of Charles near, Devin led Jamie toward one of the food tables.

Diana watched as Vincent's brother launched into some story that seemed to work at distracting Jamie while his friend filled a punch cup and pressed it into her now-relaxed hands.

Diana smoothed a hand down her green ensemble as she turned her face toward Vincent again. He had a small crease of a frown wrinkling the spot between his eyebrows. The noise around them gradually began again, murmurs and clinks, as people returned to the festivities.

"Can you really find Brooke by her scent?" she asked boldly.

"Of course." He smiled at her obvious skepticism. "But I'd better get going now. It does dissipate, and the tunnels are large."

Diana nodded. He had a job to do, so of course he must do it. She regretted that she'd spend the rest of Winterfest without his company, but she trusted that he'd come by to visit her at the loft as soon as he could. And in the meantime, it wasn't as if the company of everyone Below was stifling.

"What will you do if she's gone Above?" She couldn't help but ask.

"I was hoping I could ask for your help if that's the case."

Diana considered for a moment. She didn't like anyone interfering in her cases, not even Vincent. It felt like a breach of trust between her and the victim, and it distracted her from what she was best at doing. The idea that Vincent, or anyone, would purposefully invite that kind of intrusion was mystifying. But, she had to admit, also a bit flattering.

"OK."

"OK?"

"If you need me, I'll be there for you." Diana knew her words went deeper than this situation at hand. They rang in her core, clear as a bell. And she knew Vincent understood their depth as well, by the formal bow he gave her in response.

Moments later, she found herself standing alone, the party resumed around her. "Well, Bennett," she mused aloud, "what now?"

"Now," answered a masculine voice at her elbow, "You babysit so others can have a dance."

She turned just as Pascal handed her a sleepy-eyed Jacob. She didn't recognize the woman beside Pascal, who looked close to Diana in age but with dark loam-hued skin and wild, tight curls framing her round face. Diana instinctively pulled Jacob to her, amused by Pascal's wide grin. The two joined hands and walked toward the group of dancers. Diana looked down into Jacob's face, clutching him to her. He hadn't seemed too heavy when she picked him up earlier in the evening, but more than ten minutes or so with a five-year-old on your hip will wear out anyone's arms. Still it felt nice. She hadn't been able to hold her niece like this in years—the girl was not only too big, she was fiercely independent of any adult, spurning cuddles in favor of running around. She hugged Jacob to her while he murmured and his head drooped onto her shoulder.

 _What will he look like as an adult_ , she wondered. _Will he have his father's eyes? His mother's grace? Will he stay Below in the tunnels, or join the community Above and be a Helper?_

She felt a strong desire to see this singular child at peace among both communities, neither afraid of the loud world Above nor cramped by the cold isolation of Below.

She would've wished that for herself, even though she knew her world was, and would always be, Above. She respected the community here, and was sometimes in awe of the peace they managed to maintain which seemed largely democratic. But her passion and her strengths were in analysis, profiling, and solving puzzles. And that was something the world Above was rife with—puzzles to be solved.

"Hey, little lion, you're getting too heavy. I'm gonna set you down now, OK?"

Jacob shifted, burying his head further into her neck, reluctant to acquiesce.

"OK, then," she said softly, but firmly, and bent to set him on his feet.

"No," he moaned in complaint, leaning his weight against her leg.

Diana lifted one eyebrow at the boy. It was definitely well past his bedtime. "Best get you to bed, kiddo."

She took his little hand in hers and began leading him out of the Great Hall. Then, when she remembered the wind and that sloping staircase, she relented and picked him up again. Her arms were going to be killing her tomorrow morning.

Samantha met her at the entrance. "Where are you going?"

"It's time to take this one to bed, I think."

Samantha chuckled. She wasn't a very maternal girl, or didn't seem so at any rate, but she was a keen observer of the world. Even more so with Diana's coaching her on situational awareness.

"Here, let me show you the way. Wouldn't want you to get lost down here."

Diana smiled at her, slightly embarrassed that her penchant for getting lost in the tunnels was so widely acknowledged. Then again, maybe everyone got lost down here sometimes.

"Thanks."

They walked in comfortable silence, wending down passageways—some Diana recognized, some that seemed entirely new. Outside of the Great Hall, the world Below was even quieter than usual. Only occasional pipe tapping reminded her that there were other people around.

"Did you have a good time tonight?" Samantha finally asked.

"I did. Thank you… for inviting me." Diana wasn't sure still how formal that invitation was. Everyone was relaxed at Winterfest, clearly, even though they were dressed in their best and on good behavior.

The girl before her chuckled. "It was about time. If Vincent hadn't given you the candle this year, the Council would've taken matters into their own hands."

Diana wasn't sure how she felt about that. Flattered, that the council and people Below valued her so much they wanted her to attend this gathering, apparently for some time. Disappointed, that Vincent's motives for inviting her were now suspect, and that he'd obviously been reluctant to invite her in the years prior. She was frustrated at herself for continually trying to figure out the motives of Vincent's actions instead of taking everything he did at face value, as she ought to. She gave a little shake of her head, to dismiss the notion, and shifted Jacob on her hip. He didn't even wake up.

"Here it is." Samantha stopped in front of a small chamber, strewn with handmade children's toys. The covers were mussed on the small trundle bed, and an ancient rocking horse stood in the corner, next to a stack of Stephen Cosgrove's Serendipity books.

Diana carefully made her way inside the chamber, avoiding stepping on cloth animals, plastic soldiers, and various playtime detritus. She set Jacob gently on the bed, pulling the covers up and tucking him in. It reminded her so strongly of those days when her sister visited, that she resolved to call her tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Stace

Brooke hadn't thought that anyone would even notice she was gone when she left to meet Bartholomew. She'd saved up recycling money and was browsing a thrift store when she met him months ago. They'd become fast friends and in the beginning, would meet there, once a month, on Sunday. It had become more often with time.

Brooke was going to _have_ to talk with Jamie about what she should do, but every time she thought about it, her resolve faltered. Brooke really liked this boy… young man, but she was conflicted about how she felt. Was she a bad person because she might be falling in love with Bartholomew? It had only been five years since Stephen was murdered. What would Jamie and Vincent think of her? What the heck was she supposed to do about the tunnels and her home? Would Father make her leave? She didn't even know if the council would let Bart stay if it came to that.

It was soon obvious they both had secrets because both of them were guarded about exactly where they lived. Brooke only knew they both lived with a family, of sorts. Bart said he couldn't be away too long—much like her. Neither seemed to have a situation where the other could come and visit. She suspected that he might be staying with friends or family at a low income or rent-controlled apartment. Maybe he was squatting in an old abandoned apartment or other building. She knew he had a Post Office box and was still taking college courses. She didn't really push the subject. Those were issues that the young woman wasn't sure how to address herself, and she certainly could appreciate his situation. Even if it meant she was dying of curiosity as to what exactly his situation was. It couldn't possibly be as unbelievable as hers. Consequently, they found places they both frequented and those would be the places they'd meet—as often as they could. If they couldn't make it, they'd leave a note with someone. There was always a way. They'd settled on wearing decorative pins which they made together, to be worn on their person somewhere for identification in case notes needed to be passed by a third person the other didn't know.

Tonight, Bartholomew met her by the Mission and the two of them walked, looking at the beautiful lights and decorations. They strolled around in the brisk evening air, listened to music by street musicians on the way to the park. The young woman felt a pang of disappointment when she didn't see Clarence playing his saxophone, or Sebastian performing street magic as they walked along. It seemed odd that they weren't performing over by the Mission. They usually were this time of year. Brooke had looked around for both of them when Bart went inside to see if an old friend might be there. She'd had so much fun tonight, but they were getting a bit chilled in the crisp air.

"I didn't see him," Bartholomew commented as he pulled his well-worn gloves back on. "Let's get a coffee." He offered Brooke his arm. "We can browse books at the bookstore a couple blocks over."

"Isn't it a little late to be going to the book store? Aren't they all going to be closing soon?" she asked as she hooked her arm in his.

"It's still early enough. Besides, it's a used bookstore." The young man winked and squeezed her arm gently in his. "I used to be there enough, the owner might still recognize me. I had a friend I used to hang out with sometimes at the library and when they closed we'd be at this bookstore for hours." Bart pulled his beanie snugly down over his dark curly hair with his free hand and smiled like he was seeing a sad memory. "I haven't been back there in years, but this was one of the nights he used to be open late. Well, I thought I'd take the old guy a coffee."

After getting their small coffees in to-go cups, they walked briskly down to the bookstore, which was indeed open. Brooke opened the door and followed behind Bartholomew, so he could go in with the coffee.

"Can I help you two young people find something this evening?" the spectacled, white-haired man behind the counter called out without glancing up.

"We're just browsing for poetry, but I wanted to know if I could offer _you_ a cappuccino on this bitterly cold night, Mr. Smythe?" Bart asked, with a faint smile.

Immediately, the round, older man stopped writing. He turned towards the couple, looking intently over his glasses at the young man with the black hair curling into his beanie. "Do I know you, young man?"

"I came here a lot when I was younger," Bart began as he stepped forward, handing the steaming hot coffee to Mr. Smythe. "You and another guy kept my spirits up when I was nearly destitute. You were always kind to me and never once ran me out of your shop, even though I was rarely a paying customer."

"Yes, now I remember. Tidy street boy who used to read for hours. Had a friend you were always supposed to be meeting," replied Mr. Smythe with a cocked eyebrow.

Bart shrugged and handed Brooke her coffee. "Well, there was another guy that was always here, too. He always found the book I needed. He'd listen and encouraged me to dream."

"I see." Mr. Smythe nodded, taking a sip of the cappuccino. "Unkempt, brimming with enthusiasm and quite imaginative?"

"Yes! Wore a Mets baseball cap." Bartholomew exclaimed.

"Is he here?" Brooke asked, warming her hands around the paper coffee cup.

Mr. Smythe slowly took another quick sip of the hot coffee. "You should know that Mr. Gentian hasn't been around for quite some time." Both of the kids' smiles faded from their faces.

"I found that out about six years ago, at the art showing." The young man blinked hard and nodded, trying to nonchalantly sip his coffee. "I didn't even know how Kristopher was until then. I-I just wanted to say thank you to both of you." He paused, struggling with a thought. "And the hot cappuccino seemed like a nice thing to do on a cold winter evening."

"I do thank you for the coffee, and I'm not sure what to say. For a man as well read as I, you'd think I'd be better at what to say." Mr. Smythe thoughtfully inspected his glasses and cleaned them with a cloth. "He's still here in spirit, you know. Kristopher loved this place, and believe it or not, he usually would only chat up the lovelier ladies in the poetry section. As much now as six years ago." The old man winked, then put on his glasses. Looking about the room and to the light above, inspecting their cleanliness before he was satisfied. "He obviously saw something in you, otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered to expend the energy to make your acquaintance, my good man. Although you're inclined to believe what you'd like."

Brooke who had been mostly quiet this whole time, sipping her coffee and listening, finally chimed in a hushed voice. "He's a ghost then, you're saying?"

Mr. Smythe cleared his throat and glanced around. "I suppose, I'm not the authority on such things, but I did have to identify the body nearly eight years ago."

Brooke nodded. She was a bit less skeptical than she might be normally, considering the circumstances. Which was probably less so than the average person, considering her experiences in the tunnels up to this point. "When did you meet him, Bartholomew?"

"Little over seven years ago. I'd gone through a rough patch and was living on the street and staying in a shelter, struggling to make it through school. Kristopher kept my spirits up when I'd see him; challenged me to dream," replied Bart as he sipped his coffee. "I got a chance to go to Ireland for a semester. I wasn't sure about it but Kristopher said…"

"Go for it! You might never get to do that again!" interrupted a rumpled man in his thirties, wearing a Mets cap, as he snagged Bart's coffee and walked out the front door. "You're welcome!"

The three of them stood there for a stunned moment and blinked, looking at each other and then the door.

"Was that...?" Brooke queried as she tried to process what she'd just seen. Could a ghost be real? What was real? He seemed as real as anyone else. Something in her gut knew it was true, even if it didn't seem possible. Vincent, the tunnels, would all seem impossible to topsiders, yet it all was—was this all really that different?

"Huh?" Bartholomew said in disbelief. He hadn't really expected to see Kristopher Gentian.

"You see?" Smythe sighed, warming his hands around his coffee and went back to his writing.

Brooke and Bart looked at each other, grinning, and bolted out the door after Kristopher. They caught up with him and walked and talked for a while until they came upon a greasy spoon with the most deliciously odoriferous seasoned potato wedges. None of them could resist the wonderful smell, and nobody was really ready to part ways yet. The trio sat down in a booth where Brooke was kind of mesmerized, listening to the two old friends catch up. They were all munching and sharing stories over the large, hot order of jojos that had called them inside. Stories about Bartholomew being overseas and about his experience at the Gentian art showing. Then Kristopher told them the story about meeting Catherine and how she and a _friend_ helped him get his art in a gallery.

Things started falling into place for Brooke, but she didn't let on that she'd known Catherine Chandler.

Before Brooke knew it, minutes had turned into hours, and time had gotten away from them again. It was a passerby—a man with long, colorful candles in a basket that brought her to the shocked realization that she was missing Winterfest, and that her absence would definitely be noticed.

"Oh my god, what time is it?" exclaimed Brooke looking for a clock on the wall, but the nearest one was facing the door.

Bartholomew pulled back his sweater sleeve. "Quarter-past nine."

"Oh no, Jamie is going to be so mad!" the young woman started hurriedly gathering her jacket, scarf, and gloves. "I have to go!"

Bart immediately scooted over so she could get out of the booth. "I was supposed to meet her, like, an hour ago!" Brooke hastily put on her coat and scarf, fluffing her hair out around it.

Jamming her gloves on her hands, she trotted over and gave Kristopher a big hug. "It was so nice to meet you. Maybe we'll see you again soon!" Brooke ran out the door, before either of them could object or interject.

Thirty seconds later, the front door jingled and she came running back over to the booth. From the inner pocket of her coat she fished out a small wad of one-dollar bills, handed them to Bart, and gave him a quick kiss. "Here. For the fries! I'll see you in two weeks!"

It seemed like it took an eternity to get from the threshold and outlying tunnels to the main tunnels that connected to the hub. The wrought iron spiral staircase was time-consuming, just because it was so many steps and the spiral wound around so tightly, but she could grab the rails and skip two steps at a time. To some extent, the spiral steps on the way to Narcissa's chambers were more time intensive. They were less tightly wound, with no railing, and an opening in the center, it was a nasty fall, if one isn't careful.

Brooke was nearly there, but she knew she'd missed half of Winterfest, but it usually went well into the evening. It must still be going on; there wasn't the usual chatter on the pipes which meant that Pascal hadn't returned to the Pipe Chamber. So either it was a really good Winterfest she was missing and even Pascal had lost track of time or the pipe traffic was still really quiet because everyone was still at Winterfest. It had to be close to 10:30 by now. Jamie was going to be so mad. Brooke couldn't believe she'd forgotten about Winterfest! She'd been so focused on going to see Bartholomew today that it totally slipped her mind.

 _Bartholomew_. Brooke sighed. The young woman wished she could figure out how to tell him about Below and the tunnels. She knew that he was… did she hear footsteps? The tunnel girl looked around and listened.

Nothing.

Maybe she imagined it. At least a couple times a month, she made the journey Above. _There are a lot of sounds in the tunnels and it's usually nothing,_ she told herself. She picked up her pace a bit more and tried to listen. She could hear only her footsteps as she walked quietly and quickly along. It was so hard to tell. Trying to keep her breathing even, Brooke rounded the next corner and stopped, pressing herself up against the wall. She held her breath, looking back in the direction she'd come from, and listened.

Nothing.

Even the pipes were quiet. Suddenly, her mind flashed back to when the assassin came to the tunnels and shot Stephen. He'd gone to check because the pipes were quiet, and Snow shot him. Her heart stopped and she broke out in a sweat. Very quietly, she started to back around the corner, in the opposite direction she came from, trying to hold onto the thought: _The pipes are usually quiet during Winterfest. Calm down Brooke, you're overreacting, you know we are safe down here…_

Except for those Outsiders _._ And the Tong.

Pivoting on her heel, Brooke tried to breathe calmly, tried not to run in a panic. She started walking briskly toward the Great Hall.

 _But Vincent saved us from those horrible people. We don't have to be afraid of them anymore._

And what about Paracelsus? We also thought Paracelsus was dead, and then he came back that one Winterfest. If not for Narcissa's call for help on the pipes we'd never have known until it was too late. _Vincent and Catherine stopped him and Vincent stopped him once and for all six years ago._

Gregory Coyle... Her heart was pounding painfully. Coyle had been picking off tunnel kin alumni, out of the blue, seemingly at his whim. The young woman's feet picked up their pace to a jog, almost of their own accord. He'd found his way down here after 20 years, to murder Father. To bury him alive. _Diana and Vincent saved us and Father from him…_

Snow.

Brooke's eyes became blurry with tears. The assassin Snow murdered Stephen when he was hunting Vincent to kill him. Snow, who just shot Stephen. In the face. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the cry trying to escape her throat. Snow, who chased her down twist after turn, tunnel after tunnel, after tunnel… He shot old Sam, who came to help her.

Brooke was already running when she heard a rock clatter against the tunnel wall. She didn't care what it was or where it came from, she just wanted to get where everyone else was. The young woman hurtled down the corridor in a panic, as fast as she possibly could. She had to. The only thing she could even hear now was her own ragged breathing, thundering footsteps echoing off the tunnel walls, and the blood drumming in her ears. If she could get to the Chamber of the Winds, maybe she could hide there, he couldn't follow her by sound. She slid around one corner and whipped around another, nearly blind from fear as she ran.

"No!" she cried, as she was suddenly jerked backward and slammed up against the tunnel wall. Her jacket was caught between the stones and pipe in the archway. Around the corner she saw the shadow of a figure barreling up the passageway, closing in at speed.

"No, no…" she whimpered quietly between gulps of air. "He's too fast," she whispered, as she tried in vain to yank the pinned garment free. It wouldn't budge. "I can't… I can't…" It wouldn't tear. Brooke sank to her knees sobbing and clutching her coat, still hanging from the stone and metalwork. All she could see was Snow, bearing down on her position… commanding Brooke to tell him her name… there was no place to hide.

" ** _BROOKE!"_** a thunderous voice shouted, piercing through her memories and despair like a lantern in the darkness.

Her eyes focused to see Vincent jerk her stuck garment, and a few bits of rock, out of the wall and pull her tightly into him. His patchwork cloak smelled like sanctuary. She clung to him tightly and sobbed in relief.

"Shhh…You're safe, there's nothing to fear."

"But I heard…" Brooke began.

"Jamie was upset and worried when you weren't at Winterfest, so I went to try to find you. I was heading back to the hub, when I saw you bustle by, obviously upset. I went to see if you were being followed. I found no one."

"I thought I heard footsteps. The pipes were all so quiet. All I could think about was the time Snow came below and…" A sob escaped her throat. And now she really felt guilty that she'd forgotten about Winterfest. She'd have to make it up to Jamie somehow.

Vincent rocked her back and forth and kissed her forehead. "A pocket knife dropped out of a hole in my cloak, and that's when I heard you running." He paused, catching his breath. "I sprinted as fast as I could to catch up with you."

To Brooke, it had seemed to take mere moments, seconds, for him to catch her. Maybe she never realized how unbelievably quick Vincent could move. "I'm sorry Vincent, I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I'd forgotten what day it was, and I'd went above with Bartholomew."

"Who is Bartholomew?" His brow furrowed in feigned confusion. "How do I not remember this name?" He continued, leading with the question he knew the answer to.

Brooke broke the embrace and wiped her tears with her sleeve. "You couldn't remember him, Vincent." He helped Brooke to her feet as he rose. She sighed. This conversation wasn't supposed to even be happening yet. "Because you've never met him."

"How…?"

"Because he's from above, Vincent." Brooke interrupted. "It's a long story."

Vincent smiled.

"Tell me. We have a long walk ahead of us on the way back to the Great Hall for the rest of Winterfest."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Rhonda Collins

"Well," began Brooke, "it's like this; one day I was Uptop, and saw some kids fighting. I looked around for someone to stop them, but then, out of nowhere, this guy shows up and gets in the middle of it. He started talking to them, and within a few moments, they broke up, shook hands, and walked away." She glanced up at him, and Vincent nodded, saying softly, "Go on."

Brooke shrugged. "He kind of reminded me of you, Vincent. I mean, not because of how he looked, but because he was able to bring peace with just a few words. So, I went up, introduced myself and we started talking. Ever since then, we've met every so often, just to talk, or go to a movie. I really like him."

Vincent smiled as he took in Brooke's blush, and he nudged her with his elbow, and said softly, "I can see that you do", which made her giggle. They walked in silence for a short time, then Vincent asked gently, "I can see that you do like him, Brooke, and he sounds like a fine young man, but what do you really know about him?"

Brooke was silent, and it was an uneasy silence. "I'm not a kid anymore, Vincent," she finally said with a bit of challenge. "I don't have to ask Father's... or _your_ permission to make a new friend."

"No. Of course not, Brooke. However, you know... better than most... the dangers from Above that can find their way Below..."

Brooke stopped abruptly and faced him, her anger and frustration evident. "Bartholomew is _not_ like... like..." she looked away.

Vincent wrapped his arms around her, feeling her anger drain away in his embrace. "Of course not. Most assuredly. At least... probably."

Brooke pulled away and glared at him, anger rising again. "I'm certainly a better judge of character than _that_ , Vincent! And I haven't told him where I live, or anything about the tunnels. I wouldn't! You know that."

Vincent gestured down the tunnel. "Of course I do. Come... let's go back to Winterfest. You've missed most of it, and Jamie has been concerned. Everyone will be glad to know that you are home safely."

As they walked back through the winding tunnels toward the Great Hall, Brooke conceded a little. "I know we have to be careful, Vincent. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't make friends... or... or fall in love." She threw him a sidewise glance. "After all, _you've_ made a few very close... um... _friends_ from Above. Catherine. Diana. Elliot Burch..."

Vincent chuckled. "Point taken. I _would_ like to know more about him, though. Do you know where he lives?"

He stays with some other people. I think they share an apartment over near Broome Street.

Vincent's body went tense and it took him a moment to respond. "Brooke... you must n _ever_ go there! Promise me! I do not want you anywhere _near_ that area, under any circumstance. Is that clear?"

"Why?" Brooke asked. "I've been there, in that neighborhood once, and it wasn't so bad. Nothing terrible happened."

Voice hard and unyielding, Vincent growled, "You were very fortunate." He placed his hands on her shoulders and stared into her face. She couldn't meet his eyes. " _Brooke!_ If you love me, _promise_ me that you will never go back there! _Promise!"_

She wrenched away from him, and glared back. " _All right!_ I won't go back. I promise. Gosh, Vincent, you're worse than Father!"

They continued on their way, and could now hear the music and murmur of people talking. Coming the back way to the Great Hall bypassed the Chamber of the Winds, so they didn't have to open the huge doors, and were able to come quietly into the midst of the celebration.

Jamie saw them and ran to her friend, grabbing her into a hug. "Where _were_ you, Brooke? Don't you ever do that to me again, you hear!?"

"I just lost track of time. I'm so sorry!" Brooke looked up to see Father motioning to her. "Oh, shoot. I'm in for it now." She hurried away to let Father have _his_ say.

Vincent told Jamie, "Keep up with her, Jamie. Find out when she is to meet him again. I want Diana to make sure he is not a danger."

"Will do," Jamie said, but she looked a little uneasy. "I don't like spying on friends, Vincent."

He sighed. "I know. Neither do I. But a little caution could be the difference between safety and danger... of happiness and true heartbreak. Brooke has been through too much already."

Vincent's gaze passed over the still-crowded room. "I don't see Diana..."

"She took Jacob to his room a little while ago. She hasn't come back," Jamie told him with a grin. "Why don't you go find her?"

"Perhaps I should. Go have fun, Jamie."

 **' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '**

After Diana was certain Jacob was asleep, she considered going back to the celebration. Apparently Sally, another older woman who assisted Mary with the children, was staying in the area of the nursery and Jacob's chamber, so it wasn't necessary for Diana to stay, but still, Diana was having a hard time leaving the boy. He looked so adorable snuggled under his quilts. There was just enough room for her to squeeze herself onto the twin-sized bed beside him, so she snuggled up to him, pulling one of the quilts over her. She wrapped her arm around him and held him close. He was such a beautiful child. Breathing in his warm, clean scent and enjoying being able to hold him like this, she drifted off to sleep.

When Vincent entered Jacob's room, his gaze immediately fell upon the child's bed... and Diana. The two of them made a lovely tableau; nestling with the child, Diana's body curled around Jacob's small one. Their bright hair mingled on the pillow and Diana's longer tresses trailed over her shoulder. He noted how Jacob's red-blond hair blended beautifully with Diana's fiery locks, and the matching paleness of their skin. Leaning against the carved door frame, he crossed his arms and studied them. He'd always thought of how much Jacob looked like Catherine... and he did, but seeing him and Diana together like this, with Diana's love of the child displayed so obviously, he had to admit that anyone Above, seeing them together, would automatically assume them to be mother and son. He sighed, emotions torn. As he watched, Diana stirred and opened her eyes. She blinked sleepily, then gave him a small, slow smile.

"Hi", she whispered.

"Hello," he murmured quietly. As she began carefully sliding out from under the quilt and began tucking his son in, Vincent crossed the room to take her into his arms. He could feel her startle a bit, but when he didn't release her, she leaned her head back against his chest and relaxed. "The two of you made an endearing picture, lying there."

She tilted her head to look at him. "We did, huh? Well, he's such a sweet kid, Vincent. I just wasn't quite ready to leave him and go back to the celebration... especially with you not there."

"Winterfest is winding down, now," he told her. "Would you like to go back, or would you rather walk back to your Loft?

"I think I'd rather walk back. Slowly," she answered, taking his arm and making it clear she had no intention of releasing him.

They wandered through the tunnels, winding their way toward the surface, walking in a companionable silence. Eventually, though, Vincent felt he needed to tell Diana why he'd taken so long to ask her to Winterfest. "Diana," he began hesitantly, "I know you have realized by now that you should have been invited to Winterfest long before now."

"I'd kind of wondered. Everyone seemed to feel you'd been terribly remiss." Her voice sounded more amused than resentful, which relieved him tremendously.

"I was. It's just..." he sighed, trying to think of how to explain. "My last Winterfest before Catherine... was killed... was one of the brightest moments of my life. I suppose, in my deepest being, I simply wasn't ready to allow you to take her place, even in that one thing."

Diana leaned closer to him and laid her head against his shoulder. "It was a symbol, of sorts, you mean?"

"I think so," Vincent murmured to her. "Deep down, where I could not acknowledge it, I was already having feelings for you that went beyond being merely friends, and that part of me could not face those feelings."

Diana stopped, stopping him with her. The light of the lantern made her hair into spun red gold. She took the lantern from him and set it on the floor of the tunnel. When her gaze returned to him, her eyes seemed as endlessly deep as the pool below the falls... as blue as the sky, Above. "I never wanted to push you, Vincent. I still don't. I won't say it's not hard, waiting for you to move through your grief, but I don't want you until you're ready." Slowly, hesitantly, she placed her hand behind his head and raised her face to his.

Vincent's heart was thudding in his chest, the blood rushing through his body so quickly he felt carried on a great river into unknown waters, but he was determined not to back away. Not this time. As he bent his head to kiss her, her tongue touched his upper lip, exploring, and tremors of desire shook him. He groaned, opening his mouth for her questing tongue and buried his hands in her hair. Long minutes later, breaking the kiss, Diana leaned against him, and he enfolded her in his arms.

"I don't... I can't... I..." Vincent began.

"Oh, hush," Diana answered with a soft laugh. Just hold me for a while."

A bit later, after they had both recovered their equilibrium, Vincent put one arm around her and picked up the lantern. "I suppose we should see about getting you home."

"All right," she responded. Once again, they walked silently, but this time, the silence had a slight edge; not uncomfortable—but the silence was pregnant with promise. In a while, Diana said, "I forgot to ask about Brooke."

"She's safe, and back home. She has been meeting a young man, and she lost track of time, it seems."

"That's a relief," Diana responded, then when Vincent didn't reply at once, added. "Isn't it?"

"Yes," Vincent agreed. "It is. However, I am a bit concerned; we know nothing of this boy. Brooke says he lives with some other young people in an apartment near Broome Street, and that disturbs me."

"Does she even know his last name?" Diana queried.

"I don't know that, either. I've asked Jamie to find that out along with when and where she is meeting him again… and, I hate to ask, but I was hoping you could check him out for me. I will try to get any information I can without upsetting Brooke or letting her know we are checking on him."

"I'll do anything I can to help, I'm sure you know that," Diana told him, "but aren't you afraid she will get angry with you for interfering? I mean, I can understand your concern, not just for her, but for the world Below—Brooke may not be as understanding."

"It can't be helped." Vincent paused for a long moment before going on. "Diana, I can't tell you enough how much I appreciate this." He smiled and drew her close. "How much you do for me, and for all of us." He smiled at her, feeling free of guilt for the first time in a long while. "And you are far more than _just_ a helper... at least to me. I'm sorry it took me so long to face that fact."

Their slow wandering had brought them to the threshold in the alley behind her apartment building. "Better late than never, Vincent," Diana scolded playfully. "There's nothing to forgive."

They embraced once more, and Vincent kissed her—gently, this time, doing his best to contain his desire for her. He climbed the ladder and cautiously moved the manhole cover, checking to make certain the alley was clear. Once Above, himself, he gave Diana a hand to help her up. As he left her at the door of the building, he brushed her fire-burnished hair back from her face and gazed at her, reluctant to say goodbye.

Diana simply smiled, softly kissed him and whispered, "To the future. _Our_ future."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Jessica Webb

"Why do you think Vincent was so adamant about me staying away from where Bart lives?" Brooke had finally told Jamie about Bart, and it was a relief to be able to talk about him.

"Where _does_ he live?" They were walking back to their chambers after staying behind to help clear up after Winterfest.

"Down close to Little Italy and Chinatown; just off Broome."

"Don't you remember when he was caught above that time? That gang had him and almost killed him. It was in that area. He's been kinda paranoid about it ever since. He won't even send any of the children over there to Dr. Wong's or Henry Pei's restaurant unless it's daylight and he knows exactly what threshold they are using."

"I never thought of that," Brooke exclaimed. "I understand a little better."

They walked a little farther before Jamie asked the question that had been bothering her.

"Why didn't you tell someone, me at least, about this guy? What's wrong with him?"

"There's nothing wrong with him!"

"Then why don't you talk about him?

"I'm talking about him now," Brooke retorted.

"Only after we pried it out of you."

Brooke stopped and crossed her arms across her chest. "I'm a grown woman; I'm twenty-two, and I don't have to ask for permission."

"Maybe not," Jamie agreed, "but you need to think about the possible consequences. What if he followed you home? How would you explain disappearing into a drainage culvert in the middle of the park?"

"First of all, he wouldn't do that. Second, I didn't come Below that way this time. I usually use the threshold in the twenty-four-hour deli over on Columbus Avenue."

"You ever come back through the park after seeing him?" Jamie asked skeptically.

"Only the first time. Since then I usually come back through the deli, since it's not far from where we usually meet."

"Why didn't you come that way this time?" They'd reached Brooke's chamber and Jamie followed her in.

"Because we were over in the Village this time. We were in a book store Bart likes, and we ran into a friend of Bart's and joined him at a diner. We were talking and I just forgot the time… Strange but Bart's friend's name kind of rang a bell."

They'd reached Brooke's chamber and they both went in. Brooke busied herself lighting candles and putting more wood on the brazier.

"What is it?"

"Kristopher Gentian. After he talked for a while I started putting things together."

"Sure! He did that painting of Vincent and Catherine that is hanging in Vincent's Chamber… only I thought Vincent said that Gentian was dead."

"That's funny, but I thought that the guy in the bookstore said something like that too, but that was just before Kristopher showed up. He didn't look dead to me. He stole Bart's coffee and drank it, and ate potato wedges with us."

"But that still doesn't explain why you were keeping this Bart a secret. What do you know about him? What's his last name? Where does he work."

Brooke shrugged and looked a little guilty. "I know he works, but I'm not sure where or at what… At least I think he works. He always has money, not a lot, but some. He's going to school, but I don't know where or what he's studying… and… I've never asked his last name. I just don't think about that when I meet someone. We don't really use them here…"

"Geez, Brooke!" Jamie was frustrated with her friend. "You could have at least told me."

"I'm sorry. I guess I was feeling a little guilty," Brooke explained as she joined Jamie on the settee near the brazier.

"What about?"

"Well, it hasn't been that long since Stephen was killed. I loved Stephen and I don't want anyone to think that I'm being fickle or moving on too soon."

"That was five years ago!" Jamie exclaimed. "You were only seventeen. Chances are, if Stephen hadn't been killed, you two wouldn't be together now anyway. It sure didn't take long for you to get over Michael."

"Since when are you such an expert," Brooke retorted.

"I'm not an expert, but I am good at observing human nature."

That took some of the wind out of Brooke's sails. "Well, I was kind of going on Vincent's example. He hasn't moved on after Catherine."

"If you'd been to Winterfest, you might know differently. He invited Diana Bennett… but Vincent is different. He and Catherine were a lot older than you, and they have a child. She was the love of his life."

"At the time, I thought Stephen was the love of my life."

"And now?"

Brooke shrugged. "I guess I've moved on."

"So you're in love with the guy?"

"I wouldn't say that," Brooke hedged. "I like him a lot, but we haven't even kissed."

 **' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '**

Vincent took the long way back to his chamber. He needed to think and he always thought better when he was moving.

He hadn't wanted to leave Diana, but he really wasn't sure about what should come next.

He'd kissed her, kissed Diana and just the fact that he hadn't felt guilty about it was disconcerting. He'd felt guilty about so many things in the last five years. He'd felt guilty that he'd made love to Catherine and that she'd become pregnant. If none of that had happened Gabriel might not have killed her. But he really knew better than that. If she hadn't been pregnant, if Gabriel hadn't found out she was pregnant, she wouldn't have lived as long as she did. He'd felt guilty that he'd survived his unsuccessful attempt to rescue Catherine. He'd felt guilty that he'd survived Snow's invasion of the tunnels, or his foray into Gabriel's domain to help and ultimately rescue his son.

Father had called it survivors guilt. He said that men in the military or people involved in some kind of catastrophe or accident often suffered from it. They somehow perceived themselves as being less deserving of life than the people who had died. He surely identified with that, but had agreed with Father that it was good that he was alive because Jacob needed a father.

He'd nearly reached his chamber when he almost walked into Jamie.

"I'm sorry, Vincent," she said as she quickly sidestepped to get out of his way.

"Don't apologize, Jamie. I was lost in thought and not watching where I was going… What are you doing up so late?"

"I just left Brooke's chamber. We were talking."

"About what happened this evening?" he asked as she changed direction and fell into step beside him.

"Yes. I think that she gets that she had us all worried, but she said something that kinda bothers me."

"What's that?" They'd reached Vincent's chamber and she followed him in.

"It's about that guy she's been seeing. She admits that she really likes him, but says that she's been keeping it a secret because she's afraid that people will think that she's being fickle, untrue to Stephen's memory."

"It's been a long time since Stephen was killed," Vincent observed. "I doubt very much that anyone would say anything. I think the greater concern is whether or not he's trustworthy if she should decide she wants to bring him in on our secret."

"That's pretty much what I told her," Jamie agreed. "She says that she's following your example. You've been true to Catherine's memory during the same time. She just felt she owed Stephen as much."

That shocked Vincent. He hadn't realized that his actions might be affecting the way others Below had decided to live their lives.

He shook his head and smiled a little sheepishly.

"I think it's time that I had had a talk with Brooke."

Jamie agreed wholeheartedly with that, but before she could turn to leave Vincent asked one more question.

"Did you happen to ask what Bartholomew's last name is?

"Yeah, I did, but Brooke doesn't know. She said she never thought to ask since we don't use them down here. She also said she thinks he works, he at least always has a little money, but she doesn't know what he does or where, and he's going to school, and again she doesn't know where."

 **' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '**

Diana's kiss had completely knocked the favor he'd wanted to ask Diana out of his head. He decided to write her a note and have one of the children take it up to her the next morning. He sat at his writing table for a long time, his mind wandering back to the kiss before he actually got anything down on paper.

Diana,

We have a problem… I know I touched on it as we talked, but I didn't specifically ask for your help. I hate to take advantage of your connections to obtain information, but I need to protect my family.

Jamie talked to Brooke and although Brooke now has a better understanding of our concern, she wasn't able to supply much information. She doesn't know his full name, where he works or goes to school, although she knows he does both of them.

I would appreciate any help you can give me on this.

~V


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Janet Rivenbark

When Vincent entered the dining chamber for breakfast the next morning, he stopped Geoffrey who was on his way out.

"Geoffrey, do you have chores this morning?" he asked.

"Not this morning. I'm free until classes start at ten."

"I need a favor." He pulled the folded note out of his pocket and held it out. "This needs to get to Diana as soon as possible. Will you take it for me? And will you wait for her response?"

"Sure. I think Father had an errand he needed done too. I'll check with him."

Geoffrey took the note and headed over to Father's table.

Vincent turned and scanned the dining chamber. Brooke was sitting at a table by herself. When he had his breakfast he joined her.

"Good morning, Vincent," Brooke said with a tired smile.

"You look tired," he observed. "Didn't you sleep well last night?"

"Not very well. I had something on my mind."

"I talked to Jamie and she told me a little of the conversation the two of you had… I hope you don't mind."

"No, it's OK. I was thinking about coming to talk to you anyway."

"Tell me about your young man," he suggested.

She pushed her eggs around her plate before she spoke.

"His name is Bart… Bartholomew. He told me that he was raised by his mother. She's dead now but she was born in Greece and came here with her parents when she was a child."

"How old is he?"

"He's a few years older than me. He'll be twenty-five in March. He did say he was born in New York. In fact, he said he was born at St. Vincent's. I think he's been going to school somewhere, but I'm not sure what he's studying."

"It doesn't sound as if you know very much about him," Vincent pointed out.

"It goes both ways… he doesn't know a lot about me either. At least I know where he lives… kinda."

"You told me that he lived down near Broome."

"But that's about all I know."

"Do you trust him?"

"Absolutely!"

"But you haven't told him our secret?"

"I don't have permission. I've been thinking about asking, but I was afraid that people would think it was too soon."

"Too soon for what?"

"Too soon after Stephen. I don't want anyone to think that I'm fickle and not being true to Stephen's memory."

"Brooke, it's been five years," Vincent exclaimed.

"But…" Brooke didn't know how to say it. "You've been true to Catherine's memory. You haven't moved on."

Vincent remembered what had happened the night before and he smiled.

"My circumstances are a little different," he pointed out. "I have Jacob, and I want to make sure that he knows his mother even though she isn't here."

"What about Diana?"

If it was obvious to Brooke that Diana had feelings for him, he wondered how many others saw it.

"What about her?" he asked, avoiding a direct answer.

"She's in love with you. How do you feel about her?"

Vincent sighed and rested his chin on his hand as his unfocused gaze swept the room.

"I've been asking myself the same question all night," he admitted. "I think you and I are in much the same position. I loved Catherine, I still love her and she will always have a place in my heart, but I'm still alive and I need to live. My son needs to have a good example." He refocused his gaze on Brooke. "You can love more than one person, Brooke. Each love is different, as each person is different. You can keep Stephen in your heart and still love Bartholomew."

"But now, you and Jamie have me wondering about Bart. I don't really know that much about him."

"Then you should ask the next time you are together. If he's a good person, I doubt that he will want to keep it all a secret from you. When are you supposed to see him again?"

"We don't often set up a meeting in advance, but I know that he's going to be at the diner we like on Sunday afternoon. It's Sean O'Malley's place. He's sort of a Helper. If Bart leaves first, Sean will send me back with some of his day old stuff."

"Does Sean know Bart?" Vincent asked, hopefully.

"Only through me. We usually only go there together."

"Is that where you originally met him?"

"It was near there. I was shopping at a thrift store near there."

Vincent stopped and smiled. "I'm sorry that I sound like I'm interrogating you, but I just want to know as much as I can about his young man."

"You sound like how I would imagine a father sounding," she told him with a shy smile. "You just want to make sure I'm safe.

After their talk, Vincent went right back to his chamber and wrote down the additional information he'd gleaned from Brooke. This time, he sent Kipper with the note.

 **' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '**

Diana was reading the morning paper and sipping her coffee when the buzzer from downstairs sounded. She considered ignoring it, but when it buzzed again, she went over to the intercom.

"Yeah?"

"Diana? It's Geoffrey. I have a note from Vincent."

She unlocked the outer door. "Come on up, Geoffrey."

She met him at the elevator and noted the package under his arm.

"You on errand duty this morning?" She asked as she opened the gate.

"Yes. Vincent wanted me to bring this to you and wait for a response, and Father wanted a parcel delivered."

Diana took the note and read it.

"I don't need to write an answer for this," she told Geoffrey. "Tell him that I'll get right on it."

Geoffrey left and Diana hurriedly finished her coffee and went to get dressed.

As she dressed she jotted down ideas. At least, the name Bartholomew wasn't as common as something like John or James. She had something to work with.

She was just leaving when Kipper ran up to her and handed her a note before taking off again.

She opened it and read the notes Vincent had jotted down:

Brooke and Bartholomew meet at O'Malley's Diner most Sunday's. Sean is a Helper and he might know more.

She met him near the diner.

He was raised by his mother, who was born in Greece and came here as a child.

He will be 25 in March and he told Brooke he was born at St. Vincent's.

That last little tidbit made Diana smile. She knew someone who worked in the records section at St. Vincent's. She might not even have to use her "official" connections on this one.

Diana was grinning as she left St. Vincent's hospital a few hours later. It hadn't taken very long to come up with some very pertinent information on Brooke's friend. She now had a name that she could use to obtain more information.

 **' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '**

Vincent was on his way to dinner when heard an announcement on the pipes that Diana was on her way Below. He turned at the next junction and met her at the halfway point.

"You have information?" he asked after they hugged.

"I think I know more about Brooke's young man than he may be aware of himself," she said with a laugh. "Can we speak in private?"

When they got to his chamber she took her notebook out of her bag and tossed it on the table before she took off her coat and draped it over the back of a chair.

"What have you found out?" Vincent asked. He looked apprehensive and she rushed to reassure him.

"Nothing bad, so you can relax on that part." She sat down across from him and opened her notebook. "Bart is a student. He's currently a business major at Columbia. I spoke to one of his professors and he's convinced the young man is destined to be something someday. He's on a full academic scholarship and as long as he maintains a 3.0 average he will keep it. That doesn't seem to be an issue since he's a senior and he's got a 4.0. He should graduate next May and is planning to enter the MBA program. He's working, but he's working in construction. He shares an apartment with two other students to save money, since he's not anticipating any kind of assistance when he enters the MBA program and will have to pay for it all himself."

"So he's a hard worker and has goals," commented Vincent approvingly.

"And I think he comes by those talents and goals naturally. His name is Bartholomew Stanley Kazmarek."

Vincent frowned.

"That name sounds familiar," he said.

"You've met his father and I think his grandfather."

"I have?"

"Stanley Kazmarek, Jr. or Stosh Kazmarek was Elliot Burch's name before he changed it. He was named after his father."

"Yes, Catherine told me that after I helped her move Elliot's father from the hospital."

"I did some digging and found that when Elliot was in college, he met a girl, Astraea Karas. They were married and Bart was born six months later. They were divorced about eighteen months after that and Astraea and Bart dropped out of sight. There's a record of Elliot trying to find them at first. He searched for about a year. Then he started looking again about ten years later. He even had a stipulation in his will that a good sized portion of his estate is to be held in trust and the corporation is to continue with his management team. If his son is ever found, an offer should be made to him to come into the corporation and eventually take over if he is interested."

"Do you think he knows anything about this?" Vincent asked.

"It's hard to tell," Diana said. "He doesn't use the Kazmarek name. He's using his mother's maiden name. I'd bet that when she divorced Burch, she took back her maiden name, and when Bart started school she enrolled him as Bart Karas. He might not even know that his real name is Kazmarek."

"Do you think someone should talk to him?"

"I was considering it; if only because Burch was actively looking for him for years and the corporation is still looking."

"Do you know where to find him?"

"I've got a home address and know what construction company he's working for and what site he's on. I could try to catch him after work tomorrow," she suggested.

"Do you think we should tell Brooke what you learned?"

"Not yet. I want to know if he's actually keeping secrets, if he's just not thought to mention some things, or if he doesn't know the whole story."

Vincent nodded. "I understand. I hope you don't mind using your vacation to do this."

"It's caught my interest now," she said with a grin. "I want to follow up on it, and if it's all kept out in the open, then he might not feel as if we've been underhanded in any way."

"And you are sure that this Bart Karas is actually Bartholomew Kasmarek?"

"Yep. I have a paper trail that I would accept as evidence if I was going an official investigation."

"Then I will accept your judgment. I'm anxious to hear what you learn from him."

 **' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '**

Diana was waiting at the construction site gate the next afternoon as the crew was leaving. The registrar at Columbia had given her a copy of the picture from Bart's student ID and she spotted him before he left the property.

"Bart Karas?" she called as she walked up to him.

"Who's asking?" he sounded a little leery.

"My name is Diana Bennett. I'm a detective with the NYPD, but I'm not here on police business."

"Then why are you here?"

He stopped and let Diana come up to him.

"I'm here on behalf of a friend; a member of Brooke's family."

"Brooke told me that she didn't have any family," he said defensively.

"They aren't blood, but they are the people who raised her, the man who is like a father or, at least, an older brother to her."

"Would that by any chance be a man named Vincent?" he asked.

"It would be. She told you about him?"

"Only that he's been as you said, a father, brother, teacher and mentor to her and many of her friends."

"Can we talk somewhere?" Diana asked. "There's a place around the corner that isn't busy this time of day."

He nodded and walked down the street and around the corner to the small family restaurant. The hostess greeted Diana by name.

"Are you going to be having dinner?" she asked.

Diana answered "yes," as Bart was shaking his head.

"I know you're on a budget," she told him. "It's my treat."

He shrugged and followed her to a booth the corner.

After they were served their drinks and ordered Diana took a file folder out of her bag and put it on the table.

"Do you do private detective work on the side or something?" Bart asked.

"No, but I will use my skills to help a friend when I can… Vincent asked me to help because Brooke didn't really know that much about you."

"And he was concerned, I can understand that, but Brooke is a grown woman."

"She is, but she's had a fairly sheltered upbringing not to mention some major trauma a few years ago."

"Yeah, she said that her boyfriend was murdered."

"It has taken her quite a while to work through that. From what I've heard from Vincent, you are the first man she's shown an interest in."

"Look, she's a sweet girl and we do have a lot in common, but I'm not looking for a wife. Not yet. I'm still looking at two more years of school after I graduate in May."

"I realize that, but I may have found out a few things that you don't know."

"And that would be…?"

"How much did your mother tell you about your father?"

"Why?" he countered

"Trust me… answer the question."

"She didn't tell me very much. She just told me that they weren't married and that he wasn't in the picture. We did OK on our own. She had a college degree and a little money from her parents."

"And you moved out of the city?"

"Only as far as New Rochelle. She was a teacher and was offered a job there. They paid better than the city school system so we moved. That was just before I started school. We lived there until she died three years ago. I'd been commuting to college. I sold the house and had a little in savings. Since my first semester I've been able to qualify for a scholarship, so I've been able to keep the savings and add to it. I'll need it for the master's program I want to get into."

"Did she ever tell you your father's name?"

"No, but I know I was named after both my grandfather's. Her father was Bartholomew and my father's father was Stanley. I'm Bartholomew Stanley Karas."

"Do you have a copy of your birth certificate?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't. Mom didn't have a copy. She said that it was lost when we moved and when I tried to get a copy a few years ago, the city couldn't find one. The clerk said that I might not have been born in the city, but mom said I was born at St. Vincent's. I haven't really had the time to do a proper search."

Diana opened the file folder, and after flipping through the papers, she pulled out one and slid it across the table toward him.

He picked it up, but before he had a chance to look their dinners arrived. When the waitress left he was studying the paper.

"What is this?" he asked after he'd studied it.

"It's your birth certificate."

"Kazmarek?"

"Yeah. Your parents were married. They got married because your mom was pregnant. I met your father and I know people who knew him, and he's that kind of guy. He would have wanted a child of his to have his name."

"OK, so I'm really Bart Kazmarek, what difference does that make?"

"Well, it could make a huge difference. As the story goes, after your parents were divorced…" She handed him a marriage license and a divorce decree. "Your father paid child support for a time, then your mother disappeared and didn't leave a forwarding address."

"But we weren't hiding, we were just in New Rochelle."

"And probably being protected by some good friends who were very tight lipped."

"And my grandparents did die about that time, within months of each other," Bart added.

"Did you mother ever remarry?"

Bart shook his head. "I don't even remember her ever dating… How did she get me enrolled in school without a birth certificate, and how did I get a driver's license without it?" he asked.

"You started school in 1975?" At his nod, she continued. "She worked in the school system, they probably just overlooked it or waived it. And as far as the driver's license, I got mine without a birth certificate. All I needed was the paperwork showing that I'd completed a driver's training course."

"So where is all this leading?" he was really confused.

She pulled another paper out of her folder.

"When Stosh Kasmarek was in college he worked in construction too and when he graduated he took the tests and got his contractor's license. He went to work for the same company he'd worked as a carpenter for. After a while, he struck out on his own and started his own construction company. Not long after that, he changed his name." She handed the paper to Bart.

Bart looked at it and then up at her. "Elliot Burch? Elliot Burch was Stanley Kazmarek? And Stanley Kazmarek was my father?"

She nodded.

"But Burch is dead," he said.

"He is, but he had a will…" She held up another sheaf of papers, then handed it to him. "I've read that, and once you wade through all the legalese the gist of it is that he had been looking for you and your mother for years. He had a detective on his payroll whose primary job was to look for you. He did other things, but his main focus was finding you. Burch wrote his will so that the majority of his estate would be held in trust for you, for when you were found. There is also a stipulation in the articles of incorporation for his development company that if you were found, you would be offered a place in the company. They aren't supposed to just hand the reins over to you, but if you present yourself to the lawyers and they are convinced that you are Burch's son, you will be a majority stockholder in the company. You could, in theory, take the company over."

Bart leafed through all the papers she'd handed him, then looked up at her.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"I'll admit that I just stumbled on all of this. I was just trying to find out a little information about you to put Brooke's family at ease. Once I started finding things the rest was easy. All of it was a matter of public record. You would know better why your mother might have decided to keep you from your father. Maybe she thought that he was trying to take you away from her, I don't know, but I imagine that she had what she thought were good reasons. From what I've found, you seem like a good guy. You don't have any kind of police record, not even juvenile. Your employer likes you, your professors at Columbia think very highly of you. Even the building manager of the building you live in thinks you're a great guy."

"Did you talk to my roommate too?" he asked sarcastically.

"No, I just started this yesterday and your roommate is out of town."

Bart rolled his eyes, then couldn't help but chuckle.

"You're good at your job. I hope the NYPD appreciates you."

"This was simple compared to some of the things I've been on."

"So, what are you going to tell Brooke's family?"

"I've already shared some of this with Vincent," she told him. "I'll pass the rest on tonight, but I think the question is what are you going to do with the information that I've just given you?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "It could sure make the rest of my education a lot easier, but if I was to walk into this lawyer's office," he pointed to the letterhead on one of the papers, "and say 'Hi, my name is Bartholomew Stanley Kazmarek, and I'm here to claim my inheritance, what's to say that they just might come back and ask me to prove it. I can't… I didn't even know of the possibility until today."

"Buried in that will is a list of things that the lawyers can use to identify Burch's son."

"What are they?"

She took the papers and went through them until she found the list. She handed it back to him.

He read the list out loud, "A photo of Astraea Karas and Stosh Kazmarek taken at Coney Island, jewelry owned by Astraea Karas given to her by Stosh Kazmarek, a family photo taken of Astraea Karas, Stosh Kazmarek and their son Bartholomew when Bartholomew was six months old, a birthmark on the body of Bartholomew Kazmarek."

"Any of that sound familiar?" Diana asked.

"I don't know. Mom did have some nice jewelry. She had what looked like an engagement ring, that she gave me about a month before she died. She said that I should keep it and use it when I decided to get married. I could either give it to my future wife or I could sell it and use the money to buy a new ring. I never saw her wear it. She had a string of pearls that she wore a lot and a few other things."

"How about the photos?"

"I've got several albums that were hers, but to be truthful, I haven't looked at them since I was little."

And the birthmark?"

Bart unbuttoned his left sleeve and pulled it up to show her a brown spot shaped like an hour glass and about the size of a nickel on the inside of his arm just above his elbow.

"That's the only birthmark that I know about," he told her.

"I suggest that you gather your mom's photo albums, the jewelry, and the papers I just gave you and make an appointment to talk to those lawyers… That is if you want to. It's up to you."

Bart absently picked at the French fries on his plate.

"If I did, it would make the rest of my education easier," he said, repeating what he'd said earlier. "And I wouldn't have to wait to do some other things." He looked at Diana. "I really do like Brooke a lot… I more than like Brooke. I've thought about asking her to wait until I've finished school and have a good job, but I've been afraid that she wouldn't want to."

That struck a chord with Diana. Hadn't she been waiting patiently for Vincent to be done with his grieving?

"If she feels the same about you, she'd be willing to wait, but then she might also try to convince you that there is no reason to wait, that you should do what you want to do now, and not wait until everything is perfect."

"But that's just it, I want to be able to give her things that I can't give her now. I don't want her to have to wait."

"Brooke wasn't raised with a lot," Diana rushed to explain. "She wouldn't expect anything from you but your love."

"You might be right, but I'm going to have to think about this. I'm going to have to go home and look through those photos to see if there are photos that look like they could be the ones described in his will."

"I get it," she told him, "but would you keep me informed of what you decide to do?" She handed him one of her cards. "My home number is on the back… Are you going to tell Brooke anything?"

"I should probably either start using the Kazmarek name or have my name legally changed to Karas. That is if I am Bartholomew Kazmarek. I just wish I knew why my mother decided to keep me from my father."

"You don't seem very sure that you are Elliot Burch's son."

"Yeah… I don't know. I think I'll have to decide for myself if it's possible, then take it all to Burch's lawyers. I don't think I want to say anything to Brooke before I know one way or the other."

Diana slid her file folder across the table to him. "There are a few more things in that," she said nodding at the folder.

Bart opened it and found several papers with photocopies of photographs. The top one was a picture of him taken in fourth grade and next to his picture was another one that looked very similar, the name "Stosh" was written in the white border. The next one was a picture of him in his baseball uniform in high school and another similar one next to it, but it was a different boy. On both sheets, the similarities of the boys made them look like the same boy or, at least, brothers. The last one was a newspaper photo taken of Elliot Burch when he was only a few years older than Bart. They too looked like the same person.

Bart shook his head. "There is a resemblance," he admitted.

"I told you that I met Burch," Diana told him. "I didn't know him well, but when I went over to Columbia and the registrar showed me the photo from your student ID, I thought I was looking at the same man."

Bart took his wallet out and pulled out his student ID. He put it on the table next to the newspaper photo of Burch taken when he was just a little older. Even Bart had to admit there was a resemblance.

"You're right. Looks like the same person," he admitted.

"It must have been quite a reminder for your mother."

He nodded. "OK, I'll let you know what I decide, but I really do need to think about this first."

 **' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '**

Vincent looked stunned at the news Diana had just given him.

"And he's hesitating to claim his inheritance?" he asked.

They were sitting on the bridge over the abyss in the Whispering Gallery. Diana was leaning on one rail post and Vincent was leaning on another. Diana was swinging her booted feet and staring off into the misty distance.

"Seems to be. He admits that having the money would make his life easier. He even admitted that he cares for Brooke as more than a friend and the only reason he's hesitating to make a commitment is that he can't give her what he wants to give her, but I got the feeling that he thinks it's taking the easy way. He wants to make it on his own."

"Elliot must have cared very much for the boy, to continue the search for so long and to make allowances for him in his will."

"The will was written right after Elliot lost his own dad, so I guess that made him think."

"But with Bartholomew and his mother so close to the City, I find it hard to understand why Elliot's detective didn't find them."

"Could be any number of reasons," Diana said. "He might have thought that they'd gone farther, maybe even back to Greece. The investigator was employed by Burch's company, so the search for his ex-wife and son might not have been a high priority, or the investigator was just not putting much effort into it. It's hard to tell."

"I'm glad you were able to help us on this and, in the long run, help Bartholomew." Vincent reached out and covered Diana's hand where it rested on the boards between them. "Now I'd like to speak of something else."

"What would that be?" Diana continued to stare off into the distance.

"You kissed me," he stated.

Her head swiveled and her eyes met his.

"And you kissed me back," she countered.

"Yes, I did… I felt that the situation called for it."

Diana's lips twitched, but she didn't smile.

"And?"

"And, I was wondering it there might be other situations in the future that would call for it… I found it quite enjoyable."

Diana did smile then.

"I think it might be arranged. What caused this sudden change of heart… or mind?"

"Brooke and her young man," Vincent told her. "She told me that she was going by my example. She felt that since I was still mourning Catherine and not moving on, that was the way it was supposed to be. She felt that she was being untrue to Stephen's memory by forming an attachment to someone new."

"Was that the way you felt?" Diana asked.

"Somewhat. I also felt guilty that I was the one who was alive when Catherine had died."

"I know the feeling," Diana said as she closed the space between them and leaned her shoulder against his. "My first partner in the department was killed by a bullet that went through the fleshy part of my left arm and hit him in the chest. He died instantly. I spent a lot of time with the department shrink after that. It was one of the things that had me adding psych courses to my criminal justice courses in school."

"When I saw myself reflected in Brooke, I realized what I was doing to myself, to Jacob… to you."

Diana relaxed and leaned her head on his shoulder and he put his arm around her.

"So are you going to start doing things differently?"

"Yes, I am. It's time." He tilted her head back with a finger under her chin and kissed her.

 ** _Two Weeks Later:_**

Diana looked up from the stack of reports on her desk at the precinct to see Brooke, in her best Uptop clothes, smiling down at her.

"Brooke. This is a surprise. Have a seat." She waved at the chair next to her desk. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm not here to ask for anything. I just wanted to say thank you."

"For what?" asked Diana with a knowing smile.

"For what you did for Bart and in a roundabout way for what you did for Vincent."

"I was wondering what Bart had decided. He said he'd let me know."

"He just wanted to make sure first. He did as you suggested and took what he had to those lawyers. It took them awhile but they concluded that he is Elliot Burch's son. I think it was that he looks so much like Mr. Burch that decided them. They handed part of the trust fund over to him. He doesn't have to worry about paying for the rest of his schooling now, and he was able to move into a better neighborhood. He's working for the company; kind of a paid internship. He's not asking them to let him move right in and take over. He wants to start at the bottom and learn before he even starts attending the board meetings and voting his 51%."

"And what about you two?"

"We're dating… officially." Brooke smiled broadly. "I've had a couple talks with Vincent and he's assured me that it's OK to grow and move on to love someone else. He said that he's realizing the same thing for himself. Are you two dating?"

Diana laughed at her terminology. "Well, as much as a workaholic and someone like Vincent can date, I guess you could say that.

After Brooke left, Diana leaned back in her chair and smiled, contemplating the "date" she and Vincent had planned for that evening.

 **'**


End file.
